The Syrian embassy

We have good news for our mothers and anyone else who may worry about our safety:

We are not going to Syria.

The original plan was to go to Lebanon and Syria, but with Lebanon currently in political paralysis as the Christians and Shiites vie for power, we decided that maybe Beirut is not the safest place to be. Syria seemed safe enough to us – the Arab League summit in Damascus last month passed without incident.

We had read and heard that Syria required everyone to get visas from their home country, which is obviously impossible for us right now. However, when we talked to the American embassy here, they said that since we were living in Cairo, the Syrian embassy should give us a visa no problem. The Syrian embassy apparently doesn’t have a website. We did, though, find another website that listed a phone number. We called: wrong number. Luckily, our Lonely Planet had hours listed when visas could be obtained (9am-1pm) and we found the location by poring through our book of Cairo maps.

We struggled to wake up relatively early last weekend, then took two subways and wandered around until we found it just before 11am. Unfortunately, the guards would not let us in when we inquired about visas. The visa period was over, they said. Come again tomorrow at 9am.

The next morning we woke up even earlier. Milli wasn’t feeling well, so I went alone. I took a cab because I was running late; the cab took 45 minutes, just as long as the subway, but they let me into the embassy without a problem.

The embassy was incredibly derelict. Two ratty couches sat outside the main entrance that a college student would be embarrassed to own. The small reception room was dominated by a huge table covered by boxes and rolled-up posters; next to it lay some 2x4s and a framed picture of the Syrian president. Except for three old arm chairs, that was it. On a small table across the room I found an English-language Syrian newspaper and was excited to read it until I discovered it was two months old.

A few other people were also there for visas. They were filling out paperwork and seemed to be getting them successfully. When my turn came I approached the man who seemed to be in charge and made my request. When I revealed that our Egyptian visas are merely one-year tourist visas, not work visas, the discussion was over. My pleas fell on obstinate, uninterested ears. “Mish mumkin,” he said. Not possible.

So, no Syria. Maybe we’ll be able to come back someday and go there, but for now we had to change plans.

We’re going to Tunisia next week instead!